Another Good Man was spoiled.
After Herman made this goshawful Hit with the Souses he became convinced that he was an After-Dinner Wit.
Gus Thomas and Simeon Ford had nothing on him.
Whenever he found himself seated at a Table with other People and Food being served, he began to suck Lozenges and classify his Anecdotes and try to appear Unconcerned.
All the time he was simply waiting for the Main Fluff to come up from behind the Chrysanthemums and say, "We have with us this evening."
He knew he was a Dinger, because he remembered how the Magnificent
Assemblage stood and cheered him for five minutes.
Therefore his Voice sounded to him a good deal like the Boston Symphony
Orchestra playing Rubinstein's Melody in F.
Whenever People sat down in front of the decorative Canape Caviar and got ready to endure the Horrors of another Hotel Gorge, they would glance across the Snowy Expanse of White, dotted with plump California Olives and cold, unfeeling Celery, and seeing Herman seated opposite, would remark, "Stung!"
He could not have been kept in his Chair with a Ton of Coal in each
Tail-Pocket.
And if The Ladies were present, that was when he worked in the Bird-
Calls and ordered out the Twinkling Stars.
According to the Expectation Tables of the Insurance Actuaries, probably he will Stick Around for 32 years more and never find out that he is a Pest.
MORAL: Those who bemoan the Decline of Oratory should remember that
Oratory never was known to Decline.
THE GALUMPTIOUS GIRL
Once there was a kittenish Senorita condemned to dwell in a Piccolo
Town out on a Spur Division of the Dinkusville Short Line.
It was one of those not-dead-but-sleeping Settlements with a Sheet-Iron Cornice on every Store Building and the Hack in which Gen. Sherman once rode still meeting the Trains.
All the older Residents were sitting back on their Surplus trying to hatch out 7 per cent. Any one suggesting a Public Improvement was led into Court House Square and publicly Beheaded.
A Girl with real Jamaica Ginger coursing through her Arteries did not have a Look-In so long as she was hung up at this Whistling Post, where every Meeting of the Research Club was a Poultry Exhibit and the local Astor played a Brown Derby in conjunction with the extreme Soup and Fish.
So the Senorita, by name Madeline, used to burst into Tears every time she saw a Train pulling away from the Depot, for she certainly had laid the Soubrette's Curse on Home, Sweet Home.
She had read those large explosive articles in the Family Department of the Sunday Paper telling how the Smart Set hang by their Toes from Chandeliers and jump into Public Fountains, and she panted for the wild free life of the Idle Rich.
Now it happened that Madeline had a married Female Cousin living at the corner of Easy Street and Epicurian Avenue up in the Big Town where People hated the sight of a Brass Bedstead.
Cousin invited Madeline to come and see her, out of mere Politeness, for she had the Country Lass sized up as a Myrtle Killjoy, whose Limit probably would be a Burton Holmes Lecture or a rollicking Afternoon at the Tea Shop.
Madeleine saw that she was down to Class B and would have to make an immediate Demonstration of Form to avoid being permanently Benched or sent back to the Bush League.
Consequently, as soon as she found herself in the Main Drawing Room among the Ruperts and Rosalinds, she began to break Furniture and do Head-Spins on the Bokharas. Thereupon she was elected a full Sister of the gladsome Bunch known as the Young Married Set.
She sent Home for all of her Things and more Coin and applied for an advanced Degree in the Grand Lodge of the Knights and Ladies of Insomnia.
In one month she had entirely remodeled her Figure and landscaped her Hair into a new Design and carefully picked each broad Western "R" out of her Vocabulary, and she could walk right up to a French Bill of Fare without the quiver of an Eye-Lash. Also she could hand out that Dear Boy line of Polite Guff to all of those rugged and self-made Bucks who get back to Earth every day at 5 P. M. and begin calling feebly for Barbers and Masseurs and Manicures and Nerve Specialists and Barkeeps.
She learned that Rough House lost all Social Stigma if pulled off at 2 A. M. in a Private Resort with a Striped Awning in front and a Carpet leading down to the Landing Stage.
Her Folks kept writing her to come back Home because the Ladies of the Guild were about to have a Bazaar, but she Stalled as long as she could, and when she finally packed up the Wardrobe Trunks and the eight kinds of Massage Cream, she extracted a promise from Cousin and several other Desperate Characters that they would come out into the Wilderness and give the Rummies a Touch of High Life.
It was the first time that Madeleine had spread her Wings and hit the rarified Strata. For a Beginner she was there with the Spread. She made the American Eagle look like an English Sparrow.
As soon as she arrived back in Sleepy Hollow she began to turn the Old Family Residence upside down and get it stocked up, just like a Club, for the Hot Babies from the Metropolis.
The Real Things arrived on a Special Car with their Hats down over their Ears and were more or less obscured by Dogs and English Help and Cigarette Smoke. As they rode up Main street there was a Pale Face at every Window. Just as the Parade passed the High School, the tall Smoke-Stack over at the Hominy Mills fell with a Loud Crash.
That Afternoon there was a smell of Moth Balls in many a Refined Home, for all who had learned to take Soup from the side of the Spoon were under Royal Command to come up and get a private Peek at the imported Gentry.
It was to be a Dinner followed by a Small Dance. If it had been a full-sized Affair, no doubt Father would now be working by the Day.
Instead of the customary 3 Carnations and 1 Maiden-Hair Fern gracing the center of the Board, the terrified Guests saw a Wagon-Load of tropical Bloom which pleased them very much as soon as each had secreted a new kind of Cocktail, served in a Goblet, with a Stick of Dynamite substituted for the Olive.
The Orchestra did a lot of those "Oh! Oh!" Rags, while strange Foods kept descending to the Table and a Special Corps of waiters tried to give an Imitation of the Johnstown Flood.
Conversation became epidemic and many Local Characters who had remained in Obscurity for Years came out of their Pods and began to hop about and sing in the Sunlight.
Members of the Married Woman's Safety League were hanging out Signs of Distress and trying to give Warning Signals, but Madeleine would not permit them to crab her Little Party. She wanted to show the Boobs just how these Recherche Functions are stage-managed in Upper Circles.
Accordingly they all felt their Way to the Front Room, where they Found awaiting them a Bowl of Artillery Punch about the size of Lake Erie, and no more Harm in a full Bumper than there is in a Rattle-Snake.
Madeleine headed off a Two-Step and told Friends and Neighbors to sit back close to the Wall with a Piece of Ice in each Hand and get Wise to the latest Stuff.
The She and her Friends pinned up their Garments and put Resin on their
Hands and cut loose. They did the Grizzly Bear and the Mountain Goat
and the Turkey Trot and the Bunny Hug and the Kangaroo Flop and the
Duck Waddle and the Giraffe Jump and the Rhinoceros Roll and the Walrus
Wiggle and the Crocodile Splash and the Apache and the Comanche and the
Bowery Twist and the Hula Hula Glide, etc., etc., etc.
The Fire Department began carrying out Bodies at 12:30 A. M.. Some of the Survivors were hurrying Home through the Alleys, wondering if they could fix up Alibis. At Daybreak many Prominent Citizens were found Miles from their Homes wandering aimlessly in Roadways and shouting, "Take it away!"
Next afternoon the Male Parent of Madeleine crawled out from under the Wreckage and said to his Only Daughter: "You are too Progressive for us Farmers. Take your Trained Troupe of Society Acrobats and get out of Town. The White Caps are now gathering in the Outskirts."
Madeleine simply retorted that the Dances were being done in the most
Exclusive Homes.
An Exclusive Home is one from which the Police are Excluded.
Of course she never dared to return to her Birthplace after this
Scandalous Performance.
She had to remain in the Cruel City as the free and unrestricted Wife of a Cotillion Leader with an Income of $22.00 a Minute.
MORAL: The Pioneer must ever brave Hardships.
EVERYBODY'S FRIEND AND THE LINE BUCKER
In a sequestered Dump lived two Urchins, Edgar and Rufus, who went to the Post with about an equal Handicap.
They got away together down the broad Avenue of Hope which leads one Lad over the hills and far away to the United States Senate Chamber and guides another unerringly to the Federal Pen near Leavenworth, Kansas.
When Edgar was a Tootsey he received a frequent dusting with Extreme
Violet Talcum Powder.
About the same time Rufus was propped up to look at Pictures of
Napoleon and John L. Sullivan and Sitting Bull.
At School each was a trifle Dumb.
If Edgar fell down on an Exam, his Relatives would call a Mass Meeting to express Regrets and hang Crape all over the Place.
If Rufus got balled up in his Answers, his immediate Kin would pat him on the Back and tell him he was right and the Text-Book was wrong.
Edgar would emerge from the Feathers every morning to find his Parents all lined up to wish him a new set of Police Regulations.
They held up the Rigid Forefinger and warned him that he was merely a
Grain of Dust and a Weakling and a poor juvenile Mutt whose Mission in
Life was to Lie Down and Behave.
Rufus would be aroused each Sunrise by a full Military Band of 60
Pieces playing "Hail to the Chief who in Triumph Advances."
Whenever Edgar was forced into a Battle and came home smeared and disarranged, his Mother would go to her Room and Cry softly and Father would paint a vivid Word-Picture of a Wretch standing on the Gallows with a Black Cap over his Head.
Then Edgar would crawl to the Hay Mow and brood over his Moral
Infirmities and try in a groping way to figure out his Relation to
Things in General.
But, when Rufus appeared all dripping with Gore, his Seconds would cool him out and rub him with Witch Hazel and pin Medals on him.
No wonder he became as pugnacious as U. S. Grant, as conceited as a
Successful Business Man and as self-assured as a Chautauqua Lecturer.
Every one disliked him intensely. But just the same, they stepped off into the Mud and gave him the entire double width of the Cement Sidewalk.
Edgar, on the other hand, was one of the most popular Door-Mats that ever had "Welcome" marked up and down his Spinal Column.
All those who scratched Matches on him and used him as a Combination Hall-Tree and Hitching Post used to remark that he didn't have an Enemy in the World.
They had corralled his Goat, so he had to play the Part himself.
It had been dinged into him that True Politeness means to wait until every one else has been Served and then murmur a few Thanks for the Leavings.
Besides, his Parents had convinced him that if he went Fishing he wouldn't get a Nibble, and if he climbed a Tree he would fall and break his Leg, and if he tried to manipulate more than Two Dollars at one time, he would go Blind.
Therefore, when both were in College, Rufus acted as plunging Half- Back, with Blue Smoke coming from his Nostrils, and achieved the undying Distinction of being singled out by Walter Camp.
Edgar sat up on the Bleachers with 2,000 other Mere Students and lent a quavering Tenor to a Song about Alma Mater.
Even the Undergrads could not take the Tuck out of Rufus.
He was fresher than Green Paint and his Work was Raw, but he was so
Resilient that no one could pin him to the Mat and keep him there.
When a Boy has been told 877 times a Day for many Years that he is the
Principal Feature of the Landscape, it takes more than an ordinary
Doctoring to Cure him.
He left College thoroughly convinced that the World was his Oyster and he had an Opener in every Pocket.
He began grabbing Public Service Utilities by Strong-Arm methods, whereupon a lot of Uplifters became excited and wanted some one else to head him off.
He put things Across because when he tucked the Ball under his Arm and began to dig for the Goal of his Immediate Ambition all the Friends of Public Weal were scared Blue and retired behind the Ropes.
Edgar took his Degree out into the Cold World and began to make apologetic Inquiries regarding Humble Employment which would involve no Responsibilities.
He became an Office Lawyer of the dull gray Variety with a special
Aptitude for drawing up Leases and examining Abstracts.
He could not face a Jury or fight a Case because the fond Parents had put the Sign on him and robbed him of all his Gimp.
But a Nice Fellow?
You know it.
Any one who had a Book to sell, or a Petition to be signed, or a Note that needed endorsing came dashing right into Edgar's Office and hailed him as the Champion Patsy.
Not one of these ever ventured into the Lair of the Street Railway Czar, for he knew that Rufus might jump over the Mahogany Table and bite him in the Arm.
Even Edgar, when he made a Business Call on Boyhood Friend and loving Classmate, was permitted to wait in the Outer Room, resting his Hat on his knees, and mingling on terms of Equality with the modish Typist and the scornful Secretary.
And when they went away to look at some Properties, Rufus took the
Stateroom while Edgar drew an Upper.
Every one at the Club referred to Edgar as a Good Old Scout, but when all the Push gathered at the Round Table and some one let fall the Name of the High-Binder, they would open up on Rufus and Pan him to a Whisper.
Then Rufus would enter in his Fur Coat, upsetting Furniture and
Servants as he swept through the Lounging Room.
Immediately there would be an Epidemic of Goose Pimples and a Rush to shake hands with him.
Rufus was sinfully Rich, but nevertheless Detestable, because his Family had drilled into him the low-down Habit of getting the Jump on the Other Fellow.
Edgar may live in a Rented House, but he will always have the inward Satisfaction of knowing that he is a sweet and courteous Gentleman with Pink Underwear, and a Masonic Charm on his Watch Chain.
When Edgar answers the Call, the Preacher will speak briefly from the
Text, "Blessed are the Meek."
If the Death Angel succeeds in pulling down Rufus, the same Minister will find a suggestion for his Remarks in those inspiring Words, "I have fought the Good Fight."
MORAL: The Scrapper is seldom beloved, but he gets a Run for his Ticket.
THE THROUGH TRAIN
Two High School Heliotropes named Lib and Angie were very Thick.
Each Girl kept a Nightie at the Other Girl's House and, long after they had retired, the Inmates would hear smothered Giggles, interspersed with Fragments of what He said to Her and what She said to Him.
The Period of their Adolescence was about 20 years ago, when Romance was still alive and Knighthood was in Flower around every Dancing Academy west of Pittsburgh.
The two Chums had made a Pact. They were to be Friends for ever and ever and ever and neither was to hold out anything from the other.
Each carried in a Locket a Four-Leaf Clover presented by One to whom she had bared her Soul.
After supplementing the Graded Schools with a full course of Mrs. Southworth and learning to play "The Battle of Prague" on the Melodeon, naught remained for them in the way of passionate Diversion except to go ahead and get Married.
They waited three years for the Fairy Prince of their Dreams to come clattering down Main Street in his Coach all White and Gold, and then began to mistrust the Schedule. So they effected the usual Compromise, falling gracefully into the awkward Embraces of two cornfed Lizards named Otis and Wilbur.
In the Shake-off it befell that Angie got Wilbur and Lib drew Otis. The two Brides were somewhat envied, as Wilbur was a Good-Looker with raven Pompadour and large snappy eyes, while Otis was supposed to possess the Faculty of copping the Mazume.
However, the purpose of this Fable is to indicate that each Gal found out too late that she had Dutched her Book and backed into the wrong Paddock.
Fate separated the Young Couples and many a Full Moon deflated itself before Lib and Angie had another chance to get away by themselves and fill up on Oolong and cautiously exhibit their Wounds.
Wilbur was a Hustler who lacked Terminal Facilities. He was full of
St. Vitus Activity and was always transferring a lot of Papers from one
Pocket to another and getting ready to invest Capital in some
Megatherian Enterprise paying 20 per cent. per Annum, but somehow he
never Arrived.
While negotiating for a Rubber Plantation in Yucatan he would hear about Two Million Acres waiting to be Irrigated in Colorado, but before he could turn on the Water he would be lured away by the Prospect of developing some Monte Carlo Proposition up in the Mesaba Range.
In the meantime he wore Celluloid Collars and owed for every round
Steak that he had carried home during the preceding Five Years.
Otis, on the Other Hand, played nothing but Cinches. He was out for the Pastry. It was not his Fault if the Widows and Orphans who invested on his Tips all wound up as Department Store Employees.
He double-crossed his Partners and whip-sawed his Customers and bluffed the Courts and bullied his way into the Strongholds of Finance.
While the U. S. Grand Jury would be in Session, trying to get him with the Goods, he would be motoring in Normandy and tossing Showers of Silver to the Peasantry.
Do not mistrust the Tale, for every Buccaneer from Broad Street, N. Y., to the St. Francis Bar at the Golden Gate, was once a Poor Boy with Store Clothes on his Back and Grand Larceny in his Heart.
When Angie went to visit Lib, after the Lapse of Many Years, you can
Gamble that they had Some Talk to unload.
Angie carried a Wicker Suit-Case costing $1.98 and her General Get-Up was that of the Honest Creature who may be found in any Hotel Corridor at 2 A. M. massaging the Mosaic Floor with a Hot Cloth.
"Get me!" said Wilbur's wife, dropping wearily to a Divan in the Style of Louis Quatorze. "Pipe the Lid! It is a 1906 Model and the Aigrette is made of Broom Straw. Take a Peek at the shine Tailor-Made and the Paper Shoes. Ever since they wished that False Alarm on to me I have been giving a correct Imitation of Lizzie the Honest Working Girl. Each Evening he comes home to give me a Sweet Kiss and promises me a Trip to Europe and a Set of Gray Squirrels, and next Morning, when I get up to remove the Oatmeal from the Fireless Cooker, I find on the Back Porch a large Rough-neck in a Sweater who has come to shut off the Gas or take away the Parlor Furniture. Then I think of You, with your Closets hanging full of fluffy Frocks and your Man rushing in every few Minutes to slap you in the Face with a Hundred Dollar Bill. You can take it from me, Dearie, I would jump the whole Game were it not for the Children. I have put in my whole Life trying to realize something on a Promissory Note that was a Bloomer to begin with. He has kidded me along ever since the World's Fair at Chicago, feeding me on Canned Stuff and showing me pictures of Electric Runabouts and Country Places on Long Island. In the Meantime I am playing in Great Luck if I can get a Trolley Car to Stop for me."
At this point the Wife of Otis arose and, pulling the rose-colored Silk Wrapper more closely about her made-to-order Form, interrupted with an Imperious Gesture.
"Back up, Angie!" she exclaimed. "You should be a Happy Woman. You have your Husband's Love and you have your Children, both of which are denied a Woman of my Assured Position in the Two Minute Class of the Terrible Spenders. Talk about Hardships! Do you know what it is to lead the Grand March, surrounded by 800 Assegai-Throwers, Harpooners and Cannibal Queens, who are pointing you out as the Wife of the Malefactor who is about to the Tried in the Federal Courts! Did you ever Stagger around all Evening with $100,000 worth of Tiffany Merchandise fastened on to you—expecting every Minute to be hit in the Coiffure by some Raffles? Did you ever, during a Formal Dinner, hear the Door Bell tinkle and find in the Hallway a Reporter from a Morning Paper who wishes to ask your Husband if he denies his Guilt or can give any Reason why Sentence of Death should not be passed upon him? Are you Wise to the Fact that the Wife of a Successful Business Man now occupies a Niche in the Hall of Fame right next to the Sister of Jesse James? You are in Great Luck. No one takes a Shot at a Failure."
Having arrived at this cordial Understanding, each leaned against the other and had a Good Cry, after which they chircked up and paid a lot of Attention to a well-preserved Bachelor who dropped in to get warm and take a slight Fall out of the Side-Board.
MORAL: When Wealth walks in the Door, the Press Agent comes in through the Window.
THE LONG AND LONESOME RIDE
One pleasant morning the President of the Society for Promoting the Importation of Scotch Merchandise awoke after a Balloon Voyage which began 6 Feet below Sea Level in a Rathskeller and finished 2,000 feet above the Altitude recorded by Lincoln Beachey, the Man-Bird.
When he Came To he discovered that the Pillow had climbed over on top of him and was trying to work the Half-Nelson, while a large Pile- Driver was beating a rhythmical Tattoo on the tender Bean.
He had a Temperature of 102 and his Ears were hanging down. Also, during the Period of Coma some one had extracted the Eyes and substituted two hot Door-Knobs.
After he had decanted a miniature Niagara on to the smoking Coppers and removed his Collar, he felt his way over to the window and denounced in unmeasured Terms an English Sparrow that had perched on the Sill, merely to annoy him.
In a little while he remembered that he was a Resident of the Planet known as Earth. Soon after that his Name came back to him and then he recalled his Boyhood and the Fact that when he passed the Parsonage the Presbyterian Minister would ask him to pick some of the Lilacs and Snowballs and take them home to his Sister Alice.
From that Point he groped through his Life History up to the Twilight on which the Regulars had arranged a Send-Off for Old Buck, who was pulling out for Seattle. In order that Buck should remember them as True Friends, they had covertly planned to get him Saturated to the Eye-Balls and then ship him on to his new Home, spread out in Stateroom B, with long-stemmed Roses laid across the Remains. This form of homicidal Gayety is perpetuated under the name of American Hospitality.
Our Hero remembered the polite Get-away on the Low Speed with everybody Respectable, after which the Fountains started to gush and Waiters began to come up out of the Ground bearing Fairy Gifts of a Liquid Variety. Somewhat later in the Evening he found himself balanced on one Toe on a swiftly-moving Cloud, announcing to the Stars of Night that he was a True Sport.
In other words, he realized, as he sat humped over in the Morris Chair, holding on to the Head, lest it should fall off and roll across the floor, that he had been Snooted for Fair, Plastered, Ossified, Benzoated, Piped, Pickled, Spifficated, Corned, Raddled, Obfuscated, Soused and Ory-Eyed.
Six hours before, he had stood on a Table and declared for the Brotherhood of Man, and now he craved but one Companion and that was old Colonel R. E. Morse.
Standing over in the Sunlight by the Window, where he could see the innocent Shop-Girls going blithely to their $6 a week, he lifted the trembling Right Mitt clear above his Head and then and there declared himself to be on the Cart until the great Celestial Bodies should skid in their Orbits and the Globe itself dissolve into Vapor.
Just as he pronounced the Words, "nev-ER A-gen," he felt a great Flood of worthy Resolutions arising in his new Moral Nature. He would buy a Winchester Automatic and devote the remainder of his wasted Life to shooting up Barkeeps. And when he died, the whole Estate would go to the W. C. T. U.
Just after he had double-strapped himself to the Wagon and started up Seltzer Avenue, he realized that an immediate Absinthe Frappe would be worth $15,000 to him, but instead of ordering one, he resolved to write Doc Wiley a Letter advising him that while he was putting the Nixey Mark on that Green Magoo he should include all other Colors bestowed upon the Essence of Tribulation.
That afternoon the Survivors of the Midnight Massacre got together at a Club to compare Hang-Overs and find out what had happened after the Roof fell in.
Our Hero appeared just as the Boy was getting ready to throw a Life
Line. He was greeted with a ribald Shout and told to come running and
Save Himself.
The Moment had arrived for him to be a Man. Surrounded by Ice and Squirters and Mixing Spoons and Orange Peel and Jiggers and Jaggers, he drew himself together and made the Announcement.
For a Moment they were stunned by the Impact and then every Son of
Peoria leaned back and let out a Yowl. To think that a real up-to-date
Fellow would pull any of that Old Stuff! A puny Mortal trying to get
a Toe-Hold on the Demon!
They told him to forget it and quit his Spoofing and remove his Overshoes and ease a couple of Gills into his Reservoir and try to be a Human Being, however painful the Effort.
He came back with a few Gems from the Family Medicine Book about the
Effect of the Accursed Stuff on various Organs. He did not propose to
feed himself anything that would cut the Varnish off of Wood-Work. The
Hard Stuff had passed out of his Life.
The Cackles died away and were succeeded by looks of Blank Dismay. They saw that one whom they had long regarded as a reliable bench- working Union Lush had turned in his Card and deliberately made himself an Outcast.
They saw him order Vichy and go to it as if it were a Beverage, and then they tore up his Credentials and burned his Photograph and told him to go out to a 3-days Cure and take a Hypodermic of Hot Mush.
He sat back and pulled the Grim Smile which Savanarola wore when they piled the Fagots around him. He was a Martyr and proud of his Job. By the same Token there is no Brand of Rectitude that grades so pure and spotless as that exhibited by the disinfected Dove who has not touched a Drop for nearly 24 hours.
They saw him go home with a Magazine under his Arm, and then they sat around until all Hours, lapping it up and progging his Finish. They said he never would last a Week, and when the Fell it would be Some Splash.
They began to issue daily Bulletins and watched the Case with much Anxiety because they really liked the Old Scout in spite of his Eccentricities. When they learned, at the End of a Week, that he had played Buttermilk to a Standstill all up and down the Quick Lunch Circuit and was at his Desk every Morning with his Face clean and a Flower in his Coat, they called a Meeting of the Vigilantes and decided that the Joke had been carried far enough.
In the meantime, Our Hero had learned two new kinds of Solitaire and began to call around for a Dish of Tea with some distant Female Relatives who had long supposed him Dead. Along about the Cocktail Hour he would find himself sitting first in one Chair and then in another, but he Cashed big every Morning when he awoke and found that Henry Katzenjammer was not sitting on the Foot-Board making Faces at him.
Only, sometimes he would stop on a Corner and look all about him and up at the Buildings and wonder if the Town had always been as Quiet as at Present.
After he had stuck for a Fortnight, the desperate Envoys from the Indian Camp went after him for Keeps. They held it in front of him and splashed it on his Clothes and begged him to step aboard with them and go right up to the 18th Floor.
Probably if they had let him alone he would have come sneaking back into the Reservation to watch the red Whirligigs and pick a few of those Night-Blooming Martinis, but when they tried to Stampede him, the old New England Stock asserted itself; so he substituted Rivets for Straps.
He is now the honored Associate of those who play Cribbage in their own Homes and eat Apples before turning in. But if you want to get a Line on his Real Character, just ask the Wet Brothers. They will tell you that he wasn't there with the Strength of Character, so he simply sank out of sight.
MORAL: The Way of the Ex-Transgressor is Hard.
OUT OF CLASS B INTO THE KING ROW
Once there was a side street Quartet consisting of Papa and Mamma and
Gordon and Ethel.
The ostensible Stroke Oar of this Domestic Combination was a Graduate of one of those Towns in which the Occidental Hotel faces the Depot and all Trains are met by a Popular Drayman wearing a Black Sweater.
When he elbowed his Way into the City, years before, his Assets consisted of a Paper Valise, a few home-laundered Garments and a small Volume telling how to win at Cards.
In the refined Home where he obtained his Liver and Macaroni paved with Cheese, he met the daughter of the Household. When there was a Rush she would sometimes put on all of her Rings and help wait on the Table, although her Star Specialty was to get the Stool at the right Elevation and tear the Vital Organs out of "Pansy Blossom" and "White Wings."
The young Shipping Clerk used to fly to his Kennel and get himself all
Gussied up and then edge into the Parlor and turn the Music for Miss
Livingstone, who looked to him like Lily Langtry and sounded like
Adelina Patti.
They went to Housekeeping in a stingy Flat with a Bed that could be stood on End during the Daytime and made to resemble a Book-Case, also a Plaster-of-Paris Lion on the Mantel.
About the time Gordon was first tethered on the Fire-Escape, the
Provider got a Taste of Soft Collateral and began to wear Gold
Bracelets on his Cigars.
When Ethel was large enough to take into the Park, the Graft had developed until the whole Outfit moved to an Apartment where Goods had to be delivered in the Rear. Mother began to use Hacks which were not numbered.
So they went along for Years, riding on L Trains, calling up the Janitor to ask for more Heat, trying to find a good Maid, and experimenting with new Cereals, all of these Romantic Adventures combining to make what is known as City Life.
They were simply four scrambling Units in the Great Ant-Hill; four tiny Tadpoles in the great Schools that wiggled up and down the main Thoroughfares. It seemed that their only Chance to make an Impression on the huge and callous City was to die and then hold up a line of Street Cars while the Hearse and the five Carriages moved slowly in the direction of Calvary.
But Destiny had them spotted.
Father was very busy trying to run a Shoe String up to a National Bank. He would rush into his Office and open the Desk and push Buttons and send Hurry-Up Wires and dictate Letters to trembling Myrtle with the Small Waist and keep People waiting outside, just like the Whales who control the Sugar Trust.
He had a Front like the new Pennsylvania Station and the soft Personal
Attributes of a Numidian Lion.
When he was sued in the Courts by a Victim who wanted a final look at his Money, the Reporters came around and he was so stiff-necked and defiant that all of them referred to him as the Millionaire Promoter.
It was easier to be this kind of a Millionaire than stand for a Search.
Every Office Building is coagulated with Millionaires who never will be
Caught until the Tin Box is opened in the Probate Court. Then the
Widow will get ready to take Boarders.
As soon as Father was bawled out as a Millionaire, it was up to Mother to join a new kind of Club and have a Handle put on her Eye-Glasses. She would practise in her room for Hours at a time, gripping the Rocking Chair with both Hands and trying to get the real Bostonian sound of "A" as in Lard.
Her efforts were not in Vain, for one Day when the Club Meeting broke up, with the Lady President throwing Fits and a Copper guarding the Ballot Box, the principal Insurgent was mentioned in the Public Prints as a Popular Society Matron and Leader in the New Movement among Women. They had to call her that or the Story of her shooting the Ink-Stand at the Recording Secretary would not have been worth playing up on the First Page.
It was a proud Morning for Gordon and Ethel when they saw all the
Pictures and learned that they were the immediate Descendants of the
Millionaire Promoter and the Popular Society Matron.
Gordon found himself endowed with a Social Status which enabled him, at the Age of 23, to gain admission to an exclusive Club of 3,000 Members, the object of which was to serve a 40-cent Table d'Hote every Noon to as many as were willing to take a Chance.
Therefore, when he was yanked out of his 6-cylinder Car and stood up before the Magistrate, charged with smearing up the Boulevard with the Working Classes, the whole Reading Public was thrilled to hear of what had happened to a Well-Known Clubman whose Father was a Millionaire Promoter and whose Mother was a Popular Society Matron.
By this time Ethel was merely a Relation.
She had not come across in any Particular.
As a matter of Fact, she was not pulling down any Ribbons at Beauty
Shows, and toed in when she walked.
However, she was not discouraged. She eloped with a Chauffeur employed in an 8-car Garage and next Day she was a Beautiful Heiress whose Brother was a Well-Known Man about Town, the Mother being very prominent in Club Work and remembered as the Wife of the Millionaire Promoter.
After all this came out, Father still had between $3,000 and $4,000 and the whole Family, including the Chauffeur, sat down to Prunes every Morning.
But they were very Happy, for they were recognized in almost every Cafe and their Relatives in the East were sending Christmas Cards.
MORAL: Some achieve Greatness and others have it Rubbed in.
THE BOY WHO WAS TOLD
Once there was a Boy who had been told twice a Day ever since he could remember that if he started to go into one of those Doggeries with swinging Doors in front and Mirrors along the Side, a Blue Flame would shoot out and burn him to a Cinder.
Also he had been warned that every Playing Card in the whole Deck was a
Complimentary Ticket admitting one to a Hot Griddle in the Main
Parquette of the Fiery Furnace.
And every little Paper Cigar was another Spike in the Burial Casket.
With seven or eight Guardians trailing him Day and Night to keep him away from the Lures of the Wicked World it looked like a Pipe that he would grow up to be the Dean of a Theological Seminary.
Across the Street lived a poor unfortunate Lad whose Father was making the Futile Endeavor to take it away faster than the Revenue Officers could put Stamps on it. He was the original Blotter. When they were trying to pry him away from it, he would take a chance on anything from Arnica to Extract of Vanilla.
According to all the Laws of Heredity the only Son was cast for the
Part of Joe Morgan.
He is now the Head of a Mail-Order House. When he sees a Corkscrew he pulls his Hat firmly over his Ears and runs a Mile.
The Graduate of the Lecture Bureau may be found in a swagger Club any evening with a Bourbon H. B. at his Right, a stack of Student Lamps at his Left and Two Small Pair pressed closely against his Bosom.
MORAL: The Modern Ambition seems to be to vary the Program.
THE NIGHT GIVEN OVER TO REVELRY
All those who had Done Time at a certain endowed Institution for shaping and polishing Highbrows had to close in once a Year for a Banquet. They called it a Banquet because it would have been a Joke to call it a Dinner.
The Invitations looked like real Type-Writing and called upon all the
Loyal Sons of Old Bohunkus to dig up 3 Sesterces and get ready for a
Big Night.
To insure a Riot of spontaneous Gaiety the following Organization was effected:
Committee on Invitation.
Committee on Reception.
Committee on Lights and Music.
Committee on Speakers.
Committee on Decorations.
Committee on Police Protection.
Committee on First Aid to Injured.
Committee on Maynew.
Committee on Liquid Nourishment.
Each Committee held numerous Meetings, at the Call of the Chairman, and discussed the impeding Festivities with that solemn regard for piffling Detail which marked the Peace Conference at The Hague.
The Frolic was to be perpetrated at a Hotel famous for the number of
Electric Lights.
The Hour was to be 6:30, Sharp, so that by 6:45, four old Grads, with variegated Belshazzars, were massed together in the Egyptian Room trying to fix the Date upon which Doctor Milo Lobsquosset became Emeritus Professor of Saracenic Phlobotomy.
Along about 7:30, a Sub-Committee wearing Satin Badges was sent downstairs to round up some recent Alumni who were trying to get a Running Start, and at 7:45 a second Detachment was sent out to find the Rescue Party.
Finally at 8 o'clock the glad Throng moved into the Main Banquet Hall, which was a snug Apartment about the size of the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, done in Gold and various shades of Pink, to approximate the Chambermaid's Dream of Paradise. The style of Ornamentation was that which precipitated the French Revolution.
Beside each Plate was a blond Decoction named in honor of the Martini
Rifle, which is guaranteed to kill at a Distance of 2,000 Yards. The
compounding had been done in a Churn early that morning and the
Temperature was that of the Room, in compliance with the Dictates of
Fashion.
Those who partook of the Hemlock were given Courage to battle with the
Oysters. These came in Sextettes, wearing a slight Ptomaine Pallor.
On the 20th Proximo they had said good-bye to their Friends in
Baltimore and for Hours they had been lying naked and choked with
thirst in their little Canoes and now they were to enter the great
Unknown, without pity from the Votaries of Pleasure.
Luckily the Consomme was not hot enough to scald the Thumbs of the jovial Stevedores who had been brought in as Extras, so the Feast proceeded merrily, many of the Participants devoting their spare Moments to bobbing for Olives or pulling the Twine out of the Celery.
The Fish had a French Name, having been in the Cold Storage Bastile for so long. Each Portion wore a heavy Suit of Armor, was surrounded by Library Paste and served as a Tee for two Golf Balls billed as Pommes de Terre.
It was a regular Ban-quet, so, there was not getting away from Filet
de Biff aux Champignons. It was brought on merely to show what an
American Cook with a Lumber-Camp Training could do to a plain slice of
Steer after reading a Book written by a Chef.
Next, in accordance with honored Traditions, a half-melted Snowball impregnated with Eau de Quinine.
Just about the time that the White Vinegar gave way to the Aniline Dye, a nut headed Swozzie, who could get into Matteawan without Credentials, moved down the Line of Distinguished Guests asking for Autographs. His Example was followed by 150 other Shropshires, so that for the next 30 Minutes the Festal Chamber resembled the Auditing Department of a large Mercantile Establishment.
During this Period, the Department of Geology in the University was honored by the appearance of a genuine petrified Quail. And the Head Lettuce carried the Personal Guarantee of the Goodyear Rubber Co.
Between the Rainbow Ice Cream and the Calcareous Fromage, a member of the class of '08, who could not Sing, arose and did so.
Then each Guest had to take a Tablespoonful of Cafe Noir and two Cigars selected by a former Student who had promised his Mother never to use Tobacco.
It was now 10 o'clock and time to go Home. Those who had started to tune up along in the Afternoon were dying on the Vine. Others, who had tried to catch even on the $3 Ticket, felt as if they had been loaded with Pig Iron. Up at the Long Table enough Speakers to supply a Chautauqua Circuit were feeling of themselves to make sure that the Manuscript had not been lost. Each thought that he was the Orator of the Evening.
The Committee had put on the Toast Program every one who might possibly take Offense at not being Asked.
Also they had selected as Toastmaster a beaming Broncho whose Vocal Chords were made of seasoned Moose-Hide and who remembered all the black-face Gravy that Billy Rice used to lam across to Lew Benedict when Niblo's Garden was first opened.
After every 30-minute Address he would spend ten minutes in polite kidding of the Last Speaker and then another 10 Minutes in climbing a Mountain Height from which to present the Next Speaker.
Along about Midnight the Cowards and Quitters began crawling out of Side Doors, but most of the Loyal Sons of Old Bohunkus propped themselves up and tried to be Game.
Before 1 o'clock a Member of the Faculty put them on the Ropes with 40 Minutes on projected Changes in the Curriculum.
At 1:30 the Toastmaster was making Speech No. 8 and getting ready to spring the Oldest Living Graduate.
Protected by all the Gray Hair that was left to him, he began to Reminisce, going back to the Days when it was considered a Great Lark to put a Cow in the Chapel.
The Toastmaster arrived home at 3 A. M. and aroused his Wife to tell her that it had been a Great Success.
MORAL: If they were paid $3 a Head to stand for it, no one would attend.
HE SHOULD HAVE OVERSLEPT
One Morning a Precinct Parasite owing Allegiance to a Political Party of Progressive Principles went around to the dinge office of a Fuel Supply Co. to pull off the customary Fake Primary.
He was met at the Door by a broad-faced Lady of benevolent Mien and black Ribbons on her Nose-Glasses, who told him to use the Mat and not track up the Place.
"What is the Idea?" asked the alcoholic Henchman, looking vainly about for Bottle-Nose Curley, Mike the Pike, and Smitty the Dip, who always had been his Associates in the sacred Task of registering the Will of the People.
Instead of the old familiar strong-arm Phalanx, he saw a Bevy of plump
Joans who were hanging Chintz Curtains, arranging a neat design of
Sweet Peas around the Ballot Box and getting ready to fire up a
Samovar. When he glanced into the Polling Booth and saw that it was
draped with Doilies he nearly had a Hemorrhage.
"This is the Glad Day you have heard so much about," replied Laura Chivington Cadbury, displaying her dainty Badge, which showed that she was a Judge. "You will be expected to wear Gray Gloves with a Morning Coat and put a Carnation in your Lapel. As the Voters arrive, you will softly inquire their Names and lead them along the Receiving Line and make sure that each is given either a Macaroon or an Olive."
That evening when they sorted the Votes, and decided to throw out all that were Soiled or folded Improperly, he was over in a corner making out a list of Guests for the waiting Reporters.
MORAL: Equal Suffrage will have a demoralizing Effect upon one of the principal Sexes.
THE DANCING MAN
Once there was a Porch Rat, who was also a Parlor Snake and a Hammock Hellion. He worked the popular Free Lunch Routes for thirty years before deciding to hook up and begin paying for his own Food and Drink.
When he started flitting from Bud to Debutante to Ingenue to Fawn to Broiler to Kiddykadee back in 1880, he was a famous Beau with skin- tight Trousers, a white Puff Tie run through a Gold Ring and a Hat lined with Puff Satin, the same as a Child's Coffin.
In 1890 he was parting his Hair in the Middle, in imitation of a good Bird Dog, and had been promoted to the Veteran Corps of the iron-legged Dancing Men and the insatiable Diners-Out. He would eat on his Friends about six Nights in each Week, and repay them every Christmas by sending a Card showing a Frozen Stream in the Foreground, and Evergeen Trees beyond.
In 1900 he was beginning to sit out some Numbers. Also, when he got into his Evening Togs, his general Contour suggested that possibly he had just swallowed a full-sized Watermelon without slicing it up. But he was still Johnny-answer-the-bell when it came to Dancing Parties.
In 1910 he carried a little Balloon under each Eye and walked as if he had Gravel in his Shoes. He was still trying to be Game, although he had a different kind of Digestive Tablet in each Pocket and would rather tackle Bridge than the Barn Dance.
The Path was becoming Lonely and the whispering Tress seemed tall and forbidding. He decided to whistle for a Companion. The Dear Girls had been dogging him for three Decades and he decided to let one of them have her Wish at last.
He hunted up one aged 24 and broke the Glad News to her and she told him not to rattle his Crutches over the Mosaic Floor as he went out the Front Way.
He is now living at a Club organized as a Home for Men who have Gone
Wrong.
When he pushes the Button the Bell Hops match to see who will be Stuck.
MORAL: There is an Age Limit, even for Men.
THE COLLISION
Once in the dim dead Days beyond Recall, there lived a blue-eyed Gazook named Steve.
We refer to the Period preceding the Uplift, when the Candidate wearing the largest collar was the People's Choice for Alderman.
A Good Citizen wishing to open a Murder Parlor needed a couple of Black
Bottles, a Barrel of Sawdust and a Pull at the City Hall.
When he opened up, he threw the Key in the River and arranged to have the Bodies taken out through the Alley so as not to impede Traffic in the Main Thoroughfares.
Twelve months every Year marked the Open Season for every Game from
Pitch-and-Toss to Manslaughter.
Any one in search of Diversion could roll Kelly Pool at 10 Cents a Cue in the Morning, go to the Track in the Afternoon, take in a 20-round Scrap in the Evening and then Shoot at the Wheel a few times before backing into the Flax.
The Police were instructed to make sure that all Push-Cart Peddlers were properly Licensed.
Steve roamed the Wide-Open Town and spread his Bets both ways from the
Jack.
When he cut the String and began to back his Judgment he knew no Limit except the Milky Way. Any time he rolled them, you could hear considerable Rumble.
All the Bookies, Barkeeps, Bruisers, and the Boys sitting on the
Moonlight Rattlers knew him by his First Name and had him tagged as a
Producer and a Helva Nice Fellow.
Steve heard vague Rumors that certain Stiffs who hurried home before Midnight and wore White Mufflers, were trying to put the Town on the Fritz and Can all the Live Ones, but he did not dream that a Mug who went around in Goloshes and drank Root Beer could put anything across with the Main Swivel over at the Hall.
O, the Rude Awakening!
One day he was in a Pool Room working on the Form Sheet with about 150
other Students and getting ready to back Sazerack off the Boards in the
Third at Guttenberg, when some Blue Wagons backed up and Steve told the
Desk Sergeant, a few Minutes later, that his Name was Andrew Jackson.
Next Day he had a Wire from a Trainer but when he went to the old familiar Joint, the Plain Clothes Men gave him the Sign to Beat it and he turned away, throbbing with Indignation.
The down-town Books were being raided but the Angoras kept on galloping at the Track, so he rode out on the Train every day in order to preserve his Rights as a free-born American.
One Day just as he was Peeling from his Roll in front of the Kentucky
Club, in order to grab Gertie Glue at 8 to 5, Lightning struck the
Paddock and laid out the entire Works.
When the Touts and the Sheet-Writers and the Sure-Thingers came to and began to ask Questions, it was discovered that the Yap Legislature had killed the Racing Game and ordered all the Regulars to go to Work.
Steve went back to Town in a dazed Condition to hunt up the Gang and find out what could be done to put out the Fire.
When he arrived at the Hang-Out there was a Flag at Half-Mast. The
Roost had been nailed up for keeping open after Eleven o'Clock!
A few Evenings after that he sauntered up to a large Frame Building to look at a couple of Boys who had promised to make 135 Ringside.
A Cannon was planted at the Main Chute and the Street was filled with
Department Store Employees disguised as Soldiers.
Nothing doing.
The Governor had called out the Militia in order to prevent a Blot being put upon the Fair Name of the Commonwealth.
With the Selling-Platers turned out to Pasture, the Brace-Box and the
Pinch Wheel lying in the Basement at Central Station, the Pugs going
back to the Foundry and all the Street Lamps being taken in at
Midnight, no wonder Steve was hard pushed to find Innocent Amusement.
He started to hang around a Broker's Office but it was no Fun to bet on a Turn-Up when you couldn't watch the Shuffle. Besides, the Game was Cold and was being fiercely denounced by the Press.
For a Time he kept warm in a Bowling Alley. Drive a Man into a Corner and goad him to Desperation and he will go so far as to Bowl, provided that he lives in a German Neighborhood.
One Evening he went down to see the Walhallas go against the Schwabens, but the Place was Dark.
The Authorities had interfered.
It seemed that the Manufacture of Bowling Balls involved the Destruction of the Hardwood Forests, while the Game itself overtaxed certain Important Muscles ending with "alis," at the same time encouraging Profanity and the use of 5-cent Cigars.
Steve had one Stand-By left to him. He could prop himself up on the Bleachers with a bag of lubricated Pop-Corn between his Knees and hurl insulting Remarks at Honus Wagner, Joe Tinker and Ty Cobb.
When he crawled up in the 50-cent Seats he found the same old Bunch that used to answer Roll Call at the Pool Room, the Sharkey Club, and the Betting Ring.
The Law had made them Decent Citizens, but it hadn't made them any easier to look at.
Steve longed for the Ponies and the good old Prelims between the Trial
Horses, with Blood dripping from the Ropes, but when he picked up the
Pink Sporting Page in the Morning, all he could find was that the
Sacred Heart Academy has wrested the Basket-Ball Trophy away from the
West Division High School.
Base Ball is only Near-Sport to one who has whanged the Wise Ikes that mark up the Odds. Steve went to it because there was nothing else on the Cards.
One Day he found every entrance to the Park guarded by a Blue Burly and the Crowds being turned away.
The Health Department had put in a Knock on the Game, on the Ground that the Ball, after being handled by various Players and passed from one to the other, carried with it dangerous Microbes.
The Officials insisted that, after every Play, the Ball should be treated with an Antiseptic or else that each Player should have an Individual Ball and allow no one else to touch it.
The Society for the Protection of the Young had put up a Howl because the Game diverted the Attention of Urchins from their Work in the Public Schools and tended to encourage Mendacity among Office Boys.
The Concatenated Order of High-Brows had represented to the proper Authorities that, as a result of widespread Interest in the demoralizing Pastime, ordinary Conversation on the tail-end of a Trolley Car was becoming unintelligible to University Graduates, and the Reports in the Daily Press had passed beyond the Ken of a mere Student of the English Language.
The Medical Society certified that eight out of ten Men had shattered their Nervous Systems, split their Vocal Cords and developed Moral Astigmatism, all because of the Paroxysms resulting from Partisan Fervor. Either build an Asylum in every Block or else liberate the present Inmates of all the Nut-Colleges. It was not fair to keep the Quiet Ones locked up while the raving Bugs were admitted to the Grand Stand every Afternoon.
Under the Circumstances, a purely Paternal Administration could do only
One Thing. It put Base Ball out of Business.
On the very next Afternoon the unquenchable demand for Sport asserted itself.
Steve went into the Back Yard with his eldest Son and looked about cautiously.
"Is the Look-Out stationed on the Fence?" he asked.
"He is."
"Is the Garden Gate securely locked?"
"It is."
"Are the Mallets properly muffled?"
"They are."
"Then t'hell with the Law! We'll have a Game of Croquet."
MORAL: If it is in the Blood, the only Remedy is the substitution of
Iced Tea.
HOW ALBERT SAT IN
Once upon a Time there was a Bright Young Lawyer of ordinary Good Looks and Modest Bank Account who regarded the so-called Smart Set with scorching Contempt.
Our Hero, whose name was Albert, refused to fall for the Parlor Game.
Now there resided in this Town a certain High Priestess of the Socially Elect and a Queen Bee of the Cotillion Tribe. Whatever she said, Went. No one could lay claim to any Class in this Town until he had seated himself at one of her Dinners, with the $28,000 Gold Service in front of him, and dissected a French Artichoke right down to the Foundation.
One Evening while Albert was burning up the Local Aristocracy he made the Crack that, if he wanted to go in for such Tommy-rot, he could be Dining with the aforesaid Dowager Duchess within a Year. His Friends hooted at the Suggestion and the Outcome of the Controversy was a Wager. Albert was to storm the Citadel and land inside before the Expiration of Twelve Months or else blow the whole Gang to a high- priced Feed.
Next Sunday he began to take Part in the High Church Ceremonies and wait on the Steps to make a Fuss over the Women whose Names appeared on the List of Patronesses.
He ignored the Buds and Debutantes and worked overtime to Solidify himself with the Matrons.
Whenever there was anything Doing that required the Services of a Hand-Shaker or Errand Boy he was right there with the Dark Cutaway and a fresh Gardenia.
In a Month he had a Foothold and was serving on Committees with
Colonial Dames and Relatives of the American Revolution.
He was Dependable. Any time an Extra Man was needed he came bursting in with Kind Words for all the Elderly People. He made Party Calls and left his Card and told the Secrets of his Heart to Women who were old enough to Understand.
Consequently he had eighteen or twenty Boosters working for him.
At the end of Six Months he was a Regular at some of the Best Homes and was beginning to send Regrets to those below Class A.
Looking down from his Serene Elevation he realized that he had made a
Mistake in camping so long in the Valley.
When the Year was up he was acting as Volunteer Secretary and
Whispering Soothsayer to the Queen Bee and had won his Bet by a Mile.
His Former Associates stood ready to make Good on the Food, but, when they asked him to name an Evening, he looked them over and could not find them entered in the Blue Book, so he turned them down cold and pulled the Old One about a Previous Engagement.
MORAL: One never can tell from the Sidewalk just what the View is to some one on the Inside, looking out.
THE TREASURE IN THE STRONG BOX
Once there was a Hireling at the tail-end of a Pay Roll who longed to get a Chunk of Money so that he could own a House and pick out his own Wall-Paper.
He read an Ad in a Religious Weekly. It said to Hurry and get a Slice of the Bullkon Mining Company because on July 1st the Price would be whooped from $1 a Share to $2.75. The Guggenheims wanted it but the Directors preferred to slip it to the American People.
The Property was right up against some other Property so rich that the Workmen engaged in lifting out the Precious Metal had to wear Goggles to keep from being blinded.
The Man fell for it. He rushed to the Savings Bank and drew his Wad and sent it to a Man with several Chins, who had to sit at a Desk for nearly an hour each Day taking Money out of Envelopes.
The Stockholder received a Certificate. It had at the Top an Engraving of a Lady spilling Golden Nuggets out of a Cornucopia and below was a Seal and the Signatures of all the Officers of the Company. Any one standing off ten Feet from this Certificate couldn't have told it from a 1915 Bond of the Pennsylvania Company.
Every Week the Stockholder found in his Mail a Report from the Expert in charge of Shaft No. 13 in the Skiddykadoo Fields showing that the Assay ran $42.16 and the Main Lateral had been opened as far as the Mezzanine Drift, which meant that the $1 Shares would be selling around $85 before the Holidays.
Whereupon he would pinch out some of the Money about to be frittered
away on Dress Goods and Cereals and send it to J. Etherington Cuticle,
Promoter, who was thus enabled to have a new Collar put on his Fur
Coat.
In course of Time the incipient Monte Cristo had a Bale of
Certificates. He could borrow a Pencil and figure out, in a few
Minutes, that when the Stock went to Par (as per Prospectus) he would
land a few feet behind Hetty Green and somewhat in advance of the
First National Bank.
While he was waiting for Dame Fortune, with the Sheet wrapped around her, to begin rolling it out of the Cornucopia, as advertised on the One-Sheets, he inadvertently up and died.
The Administrator and the Brother-in-Law went over the stuff at the Safety Deposit. They checked all the Items from the outlawed Note down to the Delinquent Tax Notice and then advised the Widow to pick out a nice lucrative Position in a Hand Laundry.
Two Years passed by. The Family was now living in Comfort. Down in a Bureau Drawer, with the Dance Programs and the High School Diplomas, reposed the Stock Certificates of the Bullkon Gold and Silver Mining and Development Company, Inc.
The Widow had been tempted to use them on the Shelves, but every time she looked at the Litho of the Benevolent Female dumping the $20 Gold Pieces out of the Cornucopia, and saw the Seal, and alongside of it the majestic Signature of J. Etherington Cuticle, and noted that the total Face Value was $80,000, she would replace the Elastic and decide to Wait.
One day a soft-spoken Gentleman met her as she returned from her Daily Toil and said that a Syndicate was about to take over all the Holdings of the Bullkon G. and S. M. and D. Co., Inc., and stood ready to purchase her Stock.
With trembling Hands she undid the Bundle. It took a long time to make the Count but when he got it all straightened out and figured up, he looked her straight in the Eye and said: "It comes out to One Dollar and Eighty-Two Cents."
MORAL: Fiction is stranger than Truth.
THE OLD-FASHIONED PROSECUTOR
One morning a great Judge, who had been promoted to the Bench because he could not connect as a Lawyer, climbed up on his Perch and directed the Lord High Sheriff to feed him a few Defendants.
"We have rounded up a tough bunch of Ginks," said the Attorney for the
Commonwealth. "I shall ask your Honor to Soak them good and proper."
The first to be led in was a grinning Imp with a wide Mouth, large
Freckles and flapping Ears.
It was proven that he stuck Pins into his Grandmother and blew up Elderly Gentlemen with Cannon Crackers and set fire to Houses and was a hard Nut in general. The Prosecutor suggested a Dungeon with Bread and Water.
Up spoke the Prisoner as follows: "I defy you to lay a Hand on me. I am the Stand-By of the Comic Artist and the Star Attraction of the Colored Supplement. When I pull the Step-Ladder from under some Honest Workingman, causing him to break his Leg, or hit a Stout Lady in the Eye with a Brick, please remember that I am bringing Sunshine into thousands of Homes. As I go on my way, committing Arson, Mayhem, and Assault, with Intent to Kill, I am greeted by Peals of Childish Laughter. When you put me out of Business, you will be handing the Circulation an awful Wallop. I am not a Criminal; I am an Institution."
"I remember you very well," said the Judge. "You are my Excuse for buying the Paper. While the Kids are busy with you, I look up Packey McFarland and One-Round Hogan."
Just as the Celebrated Juvenile hit the Fresh Air the second Defendant came into The Dock, taking long sneaky Strides and undulating like a Roller Coaster. She was a tall Gal and very Pale, with Belladonna Optics and her Hair shook out and a fine rhythmical Bellows Movement above the Belt Line.
"She is a raving Beetle," explained the Prosecutor. "She wants to go out doors every Night and count the Moon and pull some of that shine Magazine Poetry. Every time she sees anybody named Eric or Geoffrey she does a Swoon, accompanied by the customary Low Cry, and later on, in her own Boudoir, which is Richly Furnished, she bursts into a Torrent of Weeping. If you start her on a Conversation about Griddle Cakes she will wind up by giving a Diagnosis of Soul-Hunger. She is a Candidate for Padded Cell No. 1 in the big Foolish House. If she continues at Large she may accidentally marry some poor misguided Clarence, and then, if there are any Children, the Neighbors will have to take care of them."
"Do you not recognize me?" asked the Prisoner in low musical Tones, fixing a passionate Gaze on the Court. "I am the Heroine of a Best Seller. If I did not have these large Porcelain Orbs and the Bosom heaving in Rag Time and the Hair swirling in Glorious Profusion, do you suppose that a Member of the Upsilon Pajama Sorority would sit up until 1 A. M. with Me and a Bottle of Queen Olives and a Box of Chocs? If I made up like an ordinary Sadie and talked Straight Stuff, do you think I could last through Ten Editions? I may not be Human, but I can raise the Temperature of every Flathead from Bangor to San Antone."
"You are dead right," said the Court. "We couldn't keep house without you."